


Lady Umbrella Returns

by EveandJohnny



Series: The Lady [3]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, he's horny for her, mentioned death, which shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveandJohnny/pseuds/EveandJohnny
Summary: The Enchantress is defeated, the Squad back in prison. George "Digger" Harkness crumbles away in his cell but suddenly an old aquaintance comes to his rescue. He's not yet sure how he's supposed to find this.





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> After three years, Captain Boomerang decided to strut into my mind again. So I read a few fanfics and got inspired to continue the story about the enigmatic lady with the rain repellent device.

After The Enchantress is June Moon again, everybody is carted back to prison. Lawton is furious. But he still has the explosive in his neck so protesting is no use. That doesn’t mean he shuts his mouth about it. All the way to his cell, he cusses in words none of the other villains has ever heard before, but otherwise he’s pretty obedient.

Harley keeps asking where the Joker is but nobody’s paying attention. Only one guard glances nervously in her direction, knowing something that would make her go haywire if she ever hears about it so he holds his tongue.

Digger, after a few half-hearted attempts of shaking off the guards also dutifully walking to his cell, still remembers the mysterious lady. Besides owning a machine gun disguised as an umbrella, her superpower seems to be vanishing into thin air. Which seems absurd to him, even after having fought a magical bitch. But he cannot come up with any other explanation because her bearing and appearance have been anything but subtle. And because she doesn’t have an explosive in her body she managed to escape when the Special Forces had them circled. He’s still bitter about this but he also isn’t called a super thief for nothing. When he can find a way _into_ a well-guarded place he can also find a way out.

***

A year passes, and Digger rots in Belle Reve. He made three attempts to escape and all were spoiled before he could even leave his cell. Now he sits on the floor and stares at a book that one of the guards who thinks he’s the next stand-up comedy star has slid him through the hatch yesterday. It reads _When you start digging in Australia where do you end up?_ and Digger got it with the shout “In hell, you bastard, that’s where you end up!”. He had just grinned and thanked him profoundly but so far has not touched the book as if it is contagious.

Meanwhile, a meticulously styled lady requests admittance to the prison. She presents a permission, supposedly signed by one of the higher-ranked judges to emphasize the importance of her visit - but not too high to make it less suspicious. She answers the guard’s hesitance with a bright and alluring smile. Finally the guard receipts it with a stamp. She thanks him, then totters on through the security checkpoint. When nothing is detected, two guards move out of the formation to escort her to the cell she wants to visit.

They’re one hall away from their destination when she suddenly stops, causing the two guards to march another step ahead until they notice the change. But before they can even react she has given them one resounding slap each which causes them to stagger against each other. She utilizes their moment of unawareness by kicking them forward so they topple to the ground. Her brown pumps in her hands, she gives them one final hit against the sternum that lets them faint. Of course, there is CCTV everywhere but she’s prepared for that. A smoke bomb in a paper tube, smuggled into the prison in a very private place, conceals her departure.

The guard standing in front of the high-security cell seems a bit bored which prompts her to smile. She checks the whereabouts of the vial in her mouth one more time before silently strutting to her on bare feet in nylon stockings.

It’s already too late when the guard spots her. Before she can reach for her gun she grabs her neck, pulls her in for a passionate kiss and then smacks her on the chin causing her to bite into the vial. She stares at her for a moment, her eyes rolling in their sockets before she falls down with a thud.

“Oi, what’s goin’ on out there?” Digger calls as he hears the noise.

“This” Loraine Fuller answers after she has opened the door with the key she pilfered from the guard. She gestures him outside, grabs him by the shoulder and puts a collar on his neck. He tries to tear it off. "Stop it!" she shushs him. "It'll interfere with the responder of your explosive and prevents it from detonating."

“You!” Digger exclaims muffled. Then he casts a look onto the knocked-out guard, still irritated but he can't help but approve what he sees.

“Yes, me. Now come on.” She briskly walks to the next corner, only to stop shortly before and instead swing herself up on a fire ladder and climb it up quickly. Digger is impressed by the speed she displays, he always thought people her size to be stolid and portly. But his dazedness fades fast when he hears heavy boots thumping and rapidly approaching. So he follows her up to the ventilation shaft.

Lying flat on her stomach, she robs forward, around sharp corners and down slopes, all the while her shoes are tucked into the waistband of her a-line skirt. Digger tries to get a look under it - the only naked female bodies he’s seen in recent years were underwear models in a much-thumbed catalogue - but it’s a heavy tweed fabric that weighs down on her legs and leaves no gap to peek.

At last they reach a hatch she deems safe to escape through and when he leaps blindly after her, he sees why. They have jumped straight into a laundry dumpster that is picked up just in this moment and hauled onto a laundry truck.

The doors are closed with a bang and then they feel the shift of the truck moving forward. He wants to get out of the dumpster but she holds him down.

“Not yet” she hisses. So they keep still under their cover of dirty sheets until she gives him a sign when the truck stops again. He climbs out first, lending her a hand which she accepts with a nod and she emerges gracefully, despite her hair do being on the brink of dissolving and her once neatly ironed blouse being crumpled like paper carrying a bad idea.

The door is opened from the outside. A bed sheet lands on the baffled driver and then they run for their life, into the next alley and the one after before she all but slams into a nondescript steel door in an otherwise massive brick wall. She doesn’t stop until they reach an apartment door without a number three flights of stairs up. She produces a key from out of nowhere to open it, steps inside and makes a joking little bow.

“Welcome to my humble home.”


	2. The Apartment

Her apartment is a lot less than he expected. Judging from her attire, it should have been all soft-neon-coloured fridges, kidney-shaped coffee tables and armchairs on long wooden legs. But there is only a mattress, a rattling fridge and an oaken wardrobe as the only solid looking items here. She gestures to the door beside the mattress and Digger discovers a sordid en-suite.

“When you’re finished undressing put your clothing into the bucket under the sink and fill it with water. I’ll get to that later” she calls through the open door.

He blinks. That he has to shower is blatantly obvious but his motivation for running around her naked is lacking just as much. As if she’s read his mind she adds “There’s a bathing robe at the door.” He spots it, and purses his lips. Not what he had in mind but better than nothing.

The bathing robe is luxuriously plush and feels like heaven on his skin. Such a difference to the old, rancid college jacket he always wears. Though he’d never admit it.

When he steps out of the bathroom he smells the alluring fragrance of Bolognese sauce. He closes his eyes for a second to revel in it. Then he looks around for her. She stands in front of a gas cooker, her back to him, and she has changed again. Now her clothing is nearly dull compared to everything he’s seen her in before. She wears chino shorts in a warm beige tone and a dark blue t-shirt, her glossy black hair falls loose over her shoulder. Still, the outfit accents her big curves perfectly, so perfectly, that something stirs in his loins. He licks his lips.

“Are you hungry?” she asks and turns to face him. Just in this moment the bathrobe falls open, revealing Digger’s nude body.

He’s proud of his body and has usually no problem showing it off. His burly shoulders are still concealed under the robe but everything else is visible for a moment that stretches longer and longer.

She seems undaunted though by his big chest covered in a carpet of soft black hair that trails down his six-pack to where his solid legs join his torso. He waits for her reaction, surely one that shows her admiration, maybe even embarrassment about his proper equipment in his nether regions.

But she’s unfazed by it all, she just raises an eyebrow and looks at him questioningly. For a split second something like a mocking smile crosses her lips.

That throws _him_ off. “Oh, er, yeah. I’m fecking starving to be honest. Smells great” he stammers and hastens to close his robe, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

She nods, stirring one more time in the red sauce, then heaves spaghetti onto to two plates. “I’m sorry that I don’t have an appropriate sitting accommodation”, she apologizes as she gets down cross-legged and hands him his plate.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout that.” He starts shoveling pasta into his mouth. Right after the first bites he makes appraising noises. “Goddamn, that’s amazing!” he announces with his mouth full.

She nods as she takes the praise but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

They finish their food in silence, then she gets up to rinse the plates in a bucket. That lets him wonder even more what is going on in her life. The immaculate garments are a stark contrast to this drab interior.

In the end, his curiosity gets the better of him. “So, what’s the deal, Lady? You running around in that fancy clothing, kicking guys’ asses without breaking a sweat and then you come home to this? Isn’t that more than just a tad pretentious?” He rests back on his hands and eyes her carefully.

She puts the plates away, then leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her expanding bosom. “This is not where I permanently live. Midway City is a dreary place, I would never spent more days here than I need to. But you have to follow where the work is. It’s what you did, too, didn’t you?” She smirks knowingly.

He knits his eyebrows. “How do ya know?”

She shrugs, still smirking. “Do you think I would get you out of Belle Reve without doing some background research first? No, I dug up everything I could find about you.”

“And what of this makes ya think I shouldn’t burn in hell?”

“The bank robberies of course. What do you think I do?”

That lets him sit up straight. He stares incredulous at her, the gears in his mind vigorously running around while he tries to figure that out. But he can’t quite bring together her image with what he’s used to doing: Digging up into and raiding through bank strongrooms.

She laughs as his train of thought is displayed on his face. “Of course not in your manner of exercise. I have my own way. I am a woman of fashion, I don’t need to make my hands dirty. Not in the literal sense anyway. For what I do you need a degree in economics. But in the end you and I do the same: Defrauding the real villains in the world.”

“Huh. But if ya make so much money why dontcha have a nicer hideout?”

“Two reasons. One: I don’t need it. I don’t want to settle here. Two: I don’t keep everything. Just what I need for a living and to sustain my wardrobe. Everything else I give to charities.”

Digger huffs. “So yer some kind of Robin Hood. Yer not a super villain then.”

She pushes herself off the wall. “The FBI begs to differ” she retorts and walks over to the oaken wardrobe. He cannot see what she’s looking for but it must be on the lowest shelf because she bends down and presents him her apple-shaped bottom.

When she turns to face him he hurries to hide his growing erection under the bathrobe folds. He hadn’t had a woman in years and the ones he had were never this voluptuous.

Not noticing, or not caring for his troubles, she sets a portable record player on the floor, plugs it into the only socket in the wall and puts a vinyl record on top. A moment after she places the needle on it some driving Irish folk starts playing.

“Now what’s supposed to mean?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re not a fan. But I cannot help it. Sometimes my Irish side wants to dance.” She gets up again, her feet already following the rhythm.

Involuntarily tapping his toes he tries to make an annoyed face. “So yer Irish? Where’s yer bloody red hair then?”

“Half Irish” she corrects him. “My mom is from Ballina on the West Coast and my dad is Greek, hailing from the beautiful island of Corfu.”

“Yer parents are still alive?!”

His incredulous face makes her laugh. “Of course. Why shouldn’t they? Not every villain has a tragic backstory. I also don’t have a dead significant other that I miss dearly. I’m happy being on my own.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t believe ya. Everybody has certain needs.” He indicates the spot between his legs.

While twirling a pirouette that makes her flesh bounce, in his eyes, appetizingly she singsongs “Not me. Ever heard of asexual? And before you ask: no, we don’t reproduce like plants; no, I’m not in need of ‘the right one’; and no, I also don’t want to try. So while it feels flattering to a certain degree to see your body’s reaction to me I advice to make no approaches on me. The least bad outcome for you is a slap in the face.” She stops to smile syrupy at him, then dances onward to the only window in the apartment.

He doesn’t like to admit it but she’s growing on him. In regards of clothing and manners she’s diametrically opposite to him but her mouth is just as quick as his. Maybe even quicker. And he can’t shake off the feeling that there is still more, that she has a darker secret locked up somewhere.

Suddenly she stops in her dance moves, takes a look at her watch and nods to herself. “Wait here” she says simply, then vanishes out the door. He couldn’t even blink.

After a few minutes she comes back, a big duffel bag swinging on her shoulder. She drops in on the floor to rummage through it. Wordlessly, she throws him a pink unicorn and the rest of his stuff. There’s a loud clonk when a shiny item falls out from among his fur coat.

He picks it up and when he realizes what it is, his eyes widen in disgust and surprise. “Are these teeth?”, he exclaims while dropping it like hot coal.

“Yes” she says, still searching through the bag. “From the biggest bastard on the planet."

He’s not sure whom she means as there are several people in his world that this description applies to. Gingerly, he picks the teeth, over and over adorned with sparkling little diamonds, up again to inspect them. In one of the corner teeth there’s a “J” formed out of tiny square emeralds. He squints, then realization hits him. “Are these the Joker’s?”

“Correct.” There is no single emotion in her voice, not even triumph so he looks up questioningly.

“And that means?” Though he already guesses her answer. The Joker would have never given up his _teeth_ voluntarily.

She folds the duffel bag and puts it into the wardrobe. “That means he’s dead.”


End file.
